


Blame it on Arcadian Air Ponies

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Churches & Cathedrals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has never decorated a Christmas tree. Given his present company, it seems unlikely to happen at any point, period, until a random poltergeist report sets the wheels in motion... and well... tiny fairy ponies get involved. Anything could happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame it on Arcadian Air Ponies

Prompt: Deck the Halls

Christmas decorations were appearing all over the city, from white fluffy snowflakes over the intersections to fir and ribbon haloes around the street lamps. Castiel straddled Jack's lap, cheeks reddened and skin still cold after a brisk walk in the snow, and thought about the sudden profusion of holiday symbols. It was the time of year, after all. He closed his eyes as Jack's warm fingers traced tingling patterns at the roots of his wings. Even that pleasure couldn't completely pull him to the surface of his own mind, as one thought linked to others like a chain.

Jack hummed a thoughtful note and smiled. "Those gears are cranking, Castiel. What're you thinking?"

Castiel looked at him, eyes sliding left of Jack's with chagrin. "Whether or not you celebrated Christmas in Torchwood over the years."

Jack's laughter rolled against Castiel's neck like a caress as he leaned forward. "Oh, sure we did. Lots of Torchwood employees celebrated Christmas, it was good for morale to let them do it at work. We had enough sad things to think about, though we stopped bringing live trees in after Hildie and George brought one in with a passenger and set a squirrel loose in the Hub."

Castiel imagined half a dozen Torchwood associates - bustled and corseted or mustachioed and sporting bowlers - chasing a single red squirrel through the Torchwood Archive. He grinned and settled himself against Jack's chest. "Them? You didn't participate?"

Jack shrugged. "Once in a while. Wasn't my thing."

"I suppose it's not my 'thing,' either, all things considered," Castiel said thoughtfully, "still, I'm curious."

"You want a tree?"

"Not… necessarily," Castiel was evasive. When a little silence followed, he pulled back again to meet Jack's eyes. "No," Castiel said more firmly, "I don't particularly want or need a Christmas tree. It isn't a symbol of my faith. Furthermore," his lip curled a little, "angel ornaments."

Jack laughed again, clearly relieved. His hands settled on Castiel's hips, drawing the angel's body flush with his, ending the conversation effectually.

-

Of all possible times, Castiel never expected the topic to rise on a mission, one week later. He and Jack followed recent poltergeist reports to a rusticated Episcopal church in the center of town. They waited until an evening when the parking lot was deserted, and let themselves in by the side door, painted brilliant red and hidden in the shadow of a snow-coated tulip tree. The otherwise empty church was alive with banging, thumps, and the occasional silvery crash.

They moved together like old dance partners: Jack and his torch on point, followed by Castiel with a bevy of diagnostic tools. He flicked on his EMF detector, watching the lights dance as they settled down to green. "It's not a poltergeist, Jack," he said, "there's not a flicker of activity."

"Thoughts?" Jack asked. A moment later, a heavy thump rattled the ceiling as furniture overturned upstairs. They paused and looked up, a dark chandelier swinging back and forth overhead.

Pocketing the EMF detector, Castiel adjusted another energy scanner - this one of Torchwood make. "We need to get closer."

"Upstairs?"

Castiel gestured upstairs soberly. "Tally ho."

The banging intensified when they reached the second floor. Over the crashes and thumps, they could now hear breathing in tiny snorts and high pitched whinnies. Jack stepped to the side, raising his brows at Castiel when he came abreast. "What does that sound like to you?"

Castiel blinked. "Small horses."

Jack's grin glowed like a light string. "Show me that scanner." His eyes narrowed at the blue glowing dash as Castiel held it up for him. Then a broad laugh curled out of his chest, and he charged past Castiel down the hallway. A well-placed kick splintered the wood around the lock and the door flew open.

A half step behind, Castiel found Jack amid a blur of tiny glowing comets. They whizzed past him in rainbow hues, whiffing his hair and tugging at his clothes. They prodded him with a force easily enough to overturn a chair (like the one on its back behind Jack's legs) but through it all, he laughed. One of the lightning fast lights spotted the open door, and—

"Look out!" Jack shouted

—launched itself, straight at Castiel.

It ricocheted off of Castiel's chest, took a chunk out of the doorframe, and knocked the diagnostic tool from his hand. It skittered down the hall. In the process, he got a glimpse of the creature inside the glowing ball of light: long nose, large eyes and waving mane. 

Tiny flying horses?

"Jack?" Castiel shouted, not sure if he needed to rescue Jack or the scanner first. In the end, he chose Jack, on the off chance that the horse comets were flesh-eating.

Jack was still giggling, apparently unconcerned by the loose creature doubtless wreaking havoc down the hall. Around him, the flying color orbs settled, and Castiel could make out more horse faces like the first. They looked like children's toys. "Stay put, Castiel," Jack warned, "I've got them under control for now."

"What did you do to them?" Castiel asked, followed by a "what are they?" with less patience.

"Arcadian air ponies," Jack said, as if he'd opened a gift, "I've never seen one alive. They're a very old species, Castiel." He held out his hand to one and it settled in his palm as a bird in a fairytale, "By my time, they were believed extinct. They mature like butterflies; but the chrysalis can be cut and set like a gem." He turned, the creature still sitting in his hand, and reached back for an ornate chest on the table - empty divots all over its surface. "Apparently whether the inhabitants are still in them or not."

So a tiny, four-legged agent of chaos was currently zooming around the rest of the church at liberty. Wonderful. Castiel ignored the obvious question of how a church ended up with a box full of Arcadian animals and focused his efforts on ensuring its siblings would not end up in the same state. "Can we catch them? If they get out of this building, they'll be impossible to round up. There's already one out."

Jack sobered. "Right. I'm keeping these docile with my wrist strap. I'm putting out soothing high-frequency sound waves. What do we have for containment?"

Castiel considered the inventory in the Jeep. "All ten tranquilizer grades. Two containment traps, one grade 2, the other grade 6."

"Anything else?"

"The localized force field, and the stun gun," Castiel shrugged. Jack shook his head.

"They're too small for that."

"Hence, I didn't mention it earlier," Castiel replied mildly. He could have heard Jack's sigh from the other end of the hall.

In the end, they baited the grade 6 trap with a dish of water, and in a few minutes, Jack had a battalion of miniature, multicolored chargers. The maverick who'd tried to take a piece out of Castiel was still at large. Half an hour's chase, a handful of mint candies, and a bookshelf full of shredded sheet music later, they subdued it.

"Cute little buggers," Jack smiled, as if the pint-sized equine ramping and kicking inside its jar hadn't just cost the church a three hundred dollar investment. Castiel mended the worst of it, but was too frustrated and in too great a hurry to arrange it all. He chased after Jack, eager to get the creatures properly contained, looking forward to a hot mug of oolong tea, and grateful that he'd never have to see the face of the reverend when he found—

"Oh," an elderly man greeted them on the stairwell, "hello. I'm Deacon O'Conner, can I help you?" He was dressed in blue jeans and a natty Iowa Hawkeyes sweatshirt, with a pair of heavy leather and canvas work gloves. The chill of the night air still radiated from the folds of his clothing.

Castiel froze half a step behind Jack, arms full of grade 6 containment trap and the glowing, brightly colored contents banging about therein.

"Paranormal pest control," Jack said, "we heard about your poltergeist and came to investigate. And well," he thumbed back at Castiel and his box of air ponies, and shrugged.

Deacon O'Conner's eyes slid from Jack, to the box. He rubbed his eyes. "Well, I'd have appreciated an earlier call," he said, "But I'm glad to see you boys. I thought I was seeing things myself. They are…" he leaned a little, to get a closer look at the cage, "…little ponies, aren't they? With butterfly wings?"

Jack was still all business. "They are indeed, Deacon. I'm afraid we have to confiscate the chest in the room where they were found. Do you have any idea where it came from?"

Deacon O'Conner blinked. "The chest? I—well, no. It's been here since before I took this parish."

Jack nodded and gestured for Castiel to pass him on the stairs. "It's a little late for you to be here, isn't it, Deacon?"

Castiel squeezed past Deacon O'Conner and made his way down the stairs - much easier to navigate with all the lights on. The church was fully lit, the doors to the sanctuary standing open. At the foot of the stairwell he could see lines of green plastic totes and a pile of oversized red velvet ribbons. 

Behind him, the Deacon's words brought Castiel to a halt. "I'm decorating for the service tomorrow. The couple who normally decorate for us were just released from the hospital this afternoon after a troubling round of influenza. I don't want them to see the sanctuary without decorations, so close to Christmas, and nobody else is free."

Castiel turned slowly in place, and met Jack's gaze. "I can help, if you need an extra pair of hands," he said quietly to the Deacon, eyes on his Captain.

And that was how Castiel (and Jack, to the tune of tiny hoofbeats in a grade six containment trap) decorated his first Christmas tree. The second was waiting for him on his desk, the following afternoon, with a box of tiny ornaments - and a pony figurine with cellophane wings.

**Author's Note:**

> We can only hope someone handed poor Deacon O'Conner a bottle of water laced with Retcon. Do you want to remember a box full of Arcadian air ponies? I don't.


End file.
